


Broken Bird

by wbss21



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Kid Loki, Kid Thor, Loki Needs a Hug, Thor is Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, the doors to Loki's chambers came open without resistance, and distantly, Thor knew that meant his little brother was, likely, presently occupied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Bird

For once, the doors to Loki’s chambers came open without resistance, and distantly, Thor knew that meant his little brother was, likely, presently occupied. Too distracted to bother with laying the wards against intruders as he’d so recently begun doing.

Distantly, Thor knew all this, but the thought is a vague notion in the back of his mind as he bursts through the doors, determined to find his brother and force him into some activity other than burying his nose in some dusty old tome and reading the day into oblivion. 

The front entry, predictably, is empty, and so Thor strides quickly through it, pushing the doors to Loki’s bed chamber open. He calls his brother’s name, but upon a cursory exploration, finds the space similarly empty.

And so he moves on to Loki’s library, a small room sitting adjacent to the bed chamber. His brother has only recently begun collecting books. Thor finds it endlessly humorous, often teasing Loki for attempting to mimic their father, whose own personal library is beyond extensive, sporting countless, unique and priceless tomes.

Loki doesn’t take well to the teasing. He’s never truly taken well to it, though lately, Thor hasn’t failed to notice, he simply chooses not to respond, which, the crown prince thinks, is an improvement over the way his brother had once grown upset enough to cry about it. That had been unbecoming of a prince, and Thor had let Loki know so too. He likes to think he’s helped Loki to grow out of such unmanly and pitiful displays, though Loki is still far too sensitive and emotional, in his opinion. 

“Loki!” He calls, his voice booming and echoing off the rooms walls as he throws the door open.

His eyes scan quickly over the space, nearly rolling over the hunched form of his brother, sat cross legged in the center of the floor, hands tinkering with… something, head bowed in concentration. He doesn’t look up at Thor’s entry.

“Loki…” he starts, just as loudly, striding towards him. Still, his brother fails to answer.

Thor frowns, irritated, stopping only a few feet from where Loki sits, crossing his arms over his already broad chest and staring down at his brother.

It’s one of Loki’s mechanical creations, Thor sees now. One of his strange, wined up toys which he likes to build from scraps of metal and steel discarded by the blacksmiths who supply the palace armory. 

Thor sighs, loudly, hoping it will catch Loki’s attention.

His brother looks small to him. Is small, Thor supposes. Shorter and slighter than he and all their friends, which wouldn’t be so unusual, given Loki is a fair few years younger than them. But he remains similarly shorter and slighter than the other children his own age and even younger. It upsets Thor, in a way he can’t truly understand. 

He worries about his brother, he supposes. He doesn’t like to think of Loki as weak, but the reality is, compared to their peers, his brother, physically, is. That fact makes itself apparent out on the training field’s everyday, when Loki, by their sessions end, is rendered by far the most ragged and badly beaten of all the students. The other children perceive Loki’s physical inferiority, and they do not hesitate to prey on it. 

The thoughts bring a scowl to Thor’s face, and he tries to push them away.

“What have you there brother?” He asks instead, his interest sincere, piquing higher the longer he looks upon the trinket in his brothers small hands.

Though he’s grudging to admit it aloud, Thor often finds himself in awe of Loki’s ability to create from scratch such intricate and finely crafted novelties. His brother is brilliant. There can be no denying that. His toys are merely a single expression of that truth. His marks among their tutors, and the rapidity with which he’s advanced through lessons meant for children three, four, even five times his age is another.

Similarly, Thor will never admit aloud the jealousy he feels towards Loki for it.

At last, his brother glances up at him, blinking owlishly a moment, as though he’s only just realized Thor’s presence. Likely, Thor thinks, he has.

“Oh, good morrow to you Thor.” He smiles softly, genuinely, and Thor can’t help but smile in turn. “I did not hear you come in.”

“Aye, I gathered.” Thor says. He nods once more to the toy in Loki’s hands. “What have you there?”

Again, Loki blinks at him, before his gaze moves down to the thing in his hands.

“Ah,” he says softly. “‘tiss a bird.”

“A bird?” Thor asks. “Does it fly?”

Loki nods.

“Aye, it should.” He says. “I have only a few adjustments more to make, but… it should take to the air now.”

“Can I see?” Thor asks, at once eager and excited. 

Loki’s creations indeed are most excellent.

A faint tinge of pink suddenly colors his brothers pale cheeks, Loki looking away, smiling shyly.

“A-alright.” He says, nearly too softly to hear.

Thor watches then as Loki takes up a small, silver key from beside himself, slotting it into a hole beneath the bird’s left wing, cranking it half a dozen times.

The thing is beautiful, Thor thinks. Silver and gold, the metal work almost absurdly fine and detailed. He can makes out each, individually hammered out feather, and ornately etched runes along the beak and wings. There are gaps in the outer shell too, which allow him to see the internal workings of the thing. Immensely complex gear work meets his vision as he peers closer.

The elder god finds himself wondering how it is even possible that one so young as his brother could be so skilled in something which, by all rights, should take many years more than Loki has to have perfected. 

Whatever Loki lacks in strength and skill of battle, he more than makes up for in things such as this.

And then his brother is removing the key and holding the bird cupped in his hands, thumbs pressing the wings down, holding the thing up and out. A moment later, and he lets it fly, the bird whipping into the air, metal wings fluttering with a fluidity and speed which seems impossible for the material they’re made from. 

It flits round the room sharply and quick, a trilling song emitting from it as it zips this way and that over Thor’s head, and Thor stares in genuine wonderment at the thing, unable to help the grin which plasters itself across his face.

After a few, short minutes, the toy begins to slow and Loki hops up to his feet, reaching out to catch it as it slowly descends back down.

He holds the thing to his chest, eyes fixed on it.

“‘Tiss most fantastic brother!” Thor enthuses, grinning.

“D-do you like it then?” Loki asks, sounding strangely meek and unsure. Thor knows not how he could feel so, after creating a thing so magnificent.

“Certainly!” He says. “‘Tiss beautifully crafted! One of your finest pieces, I think.”

The blush returns then to Loki’s cheeks, and he smiles softly, looking up at Thor.

Something in it pains Thor, looking upon Loki now. Standing, his brother seems smaller still, many inches shorter than himself, and frailly built. The elder god wants suddenly, powerfully, to take Loki into his arms and hug him tight. To protect him, though he knows not from what.

“I made it for Mother.” Loki says. “But if… if you like it, you may have it. I can make for her something else.”

Thor can feel his eyes widen in shocked excitement.

“Truly?” He asks.

It isn’t that it’s unusual for Loki to give him gifts. Quite to the contrary, his little brother often gives him things that either he’s made with his own hands, or somehow acquired from someplace else. Loki enjoys giving things to others, Thor’s noticed.

It’s only that such a finely made thing must have taken countless hours for his brother to complete, and to so easily part with it…

“Loki, that is most generous of you. Surely it’s taken you many a day to complete.”

Loki nods.

“Aye.” He says. “It has. But it is meant to be given. T’would be my honor should you desire it.”

Thor grins widely then, unable to contain his happiness. He nods, holding out his hands to accept Loki’s gift.

“I have only a few adjustments to make.” His brother reminds him quietly, and Thor’s mouth forms an O of realization, retracting his hands and again nodding.

“Of course…” he begins in understanding. But any further words are cut short by the sound of raucous laughter and a multitude of excited, loud voices, floating in from the other rooms.

Immediately, Thor sees Loki’s frame stiffen, eyes going wide and, for a moment, fearful, before, just as abruptly, his face smoothes into an expressionless mask. Something Thor has noticed Loki affecting more and more often lately.

Seconds following, Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun come marching into the room, their voices booming and alive with excitement.

“There you are!” Volstagg exclaims, coming up quickly to Thor and throwing his large arm about the crown prince’s shoulders. “We’ve been searching the entirety of the palace for you!”

“Indeed!” Fandral continues, coming up along Thor’s other side, grinning rakishly. “I told the others we ought to search Loki’s rooms, but of course, they thought the notion absurd, that you should be found socializing with the little whelp.” 

Fandral shoots Loki a narrow eyed look, and Loki looks away, face tight and fingers burying into the material of his breeches, shoulders stiff. He says nothing, and Thor frowns.

“He is my brother. Why should I not socialize with him?”

Fandral laughs, as does Volstagg. 

“But of course,” he goes on. “‘twas only in jest I say so.”

Of course then, Thor thinks, smiling back now at the other boy, relief blooming in his chest.

“Though you really ought stop tormenting yourself in trying to convince the boy here to join you out in the world.” Volstagg interjects now. “All know Loki prefers the safety and comfort of the palace. Wouldn’t want to muss up those fine garments and tidied hair by exposing thyself to the elements, would we, young prince?”

Volstagg reaches out suddenly, dropping a thick fingered hand heavily onto Loki’s head, ruffling his hair violently.

Loki ducks away immediately, face flushing red a moment as he stumbles back, flustered and shocked.

Volstagg and Fandral laugh heartily, and Thor laughs with them, unable to help it for the indignant look upon his younger brother’s face.

But Loki seems anything but amused.

He clutches his bird to his chest tightly, lips thinning into a tight line, pulling at their corners into a trembling frown. His eyes seem, for a moment, overly bright, and he swallows thickly, before turning his face down and remaining silent.

“Come now brother,” Thor entreats lightly. “they only tease you. They mean no true insult. And anyway, is it not true? You prefer the safety and comfort of these walls to the outside land.”

Still, Loki says nothing, keeping his face turned away, his hands clutching the toy tighter still. For a moment, Thor sees his hands shaking, and then Fandral’s voice cuts into his thoughts.

“What have you there Loki?” He asks, looking pointedly at the thing in the younger boys hands.

Loki still doesn’t answer, only he takes a step back.

He is embarrassed, Thor thinks. Though he has no cause to be. He knows the others sometimes make jest over Loki’s interest and occupation in his crafts, but it is only in fun. Surely, he thinks, they admire Loki’s gifts the same as he.

Again though, his brother is too sensitive. Takes things too greatly to heart.

“‘Tiss a mechanical toy.” Thor answers in Loki’s stead. “A bird which fly’s when it is wound. ‘Tiss a most wondrous design. My brother has worked many days towards its creation!”

Loki looks up at him then, eyes wide and, inexplicably, deep with betrayal, as though Thor has said something grave and cruel against him.

Thor frowns again, perplexed by the expression, his mouth coming open to ask his brother what the matter is.

But before he can speak, Fandral steps forward, quick as a snake, and snatches the toy from Loki’s hands.

For an instant, Loki’s face is wide open with shock and anger and pain, his mouth falling open and his hands reaching out, as though to take his creation back. But Fandral has already turned and stepped away, holding the bird up out of Loki’s reach.

“What does it do?” Fandral asks to no one in particular, turning the bird this way and that, eyes narrowed as he examines it.

“Let me see it.” Volstagg says, reaching forward and snatching it from Fandral’s fingers.

Loki’s eyes are over-bright and vibrating, watching them, and his hand falls away as Volstagg begins to pull the wings of the toy out, flexing them to test their movement.

He says nothing, and once more, his face closes off, expression falling flat and unreadable.

It is only his friends curiosity, Thor knows. They are fascinated by Loki’s creations, the same as he, of course. But still, he knows too they can, at times, be heavy-handed and too rough. He opens his mouth to tell Voltagg to be more careful, to explain that the toy is no doubt delicate, and remind them that Loki worked many days to complete it. 

He goes too late to do these things, however, as inevitably, it seems, Volstagg’s strength gets the better of him, and there is the sound of metal snapping, and the bird’s right wing comes apart from the body, tiny piping and pistons falling in tatters to the floor.

For a long moment, a heavy silence falls over the room, and Thor can only stare, a feeling of horror and bafflement overwhelming him as he observes the destroyed bird which, only minutes before, he’d watched fly with such beautiful precision and grace through the air. 

“Oops,” Volstagg says at last, breaking the spell. “I did not realize the thing was so fragile.”

He grins sheepishly at Thor, not quite apologetic. 

As though it’s him he should be apologizing to.

Thor stares back at him, mind utterly blank, uncertain of what to say. Of how to react.

An instant later, and he remembers Loki. He turns his head, looking at his brother, and sees him there with his face turned down, hands clenched to fists at his sides and entire frame trembling, visibly.

For a moment, Thor finds himself holding his breath, certain then his brother is going to have another of his episodes. That he may even start crying, exploding into a rage of tears and stammering words, as he had, not so long ago, been wont to do.

It was an embarrassment to the elder prince, how emotional his younger brother could be. Like a girl, Thor had told him innumerable times. That led usually to Loki running away, usually to Mother, of course. 

How could Loki expect the other boys to respect him then, when he acted thusly? Thor had posed just such a question to his brother innumerable times also, and again also, Loki had usually responded by running away to Mother.

In a vague sort of way, Thor understands his words to be harsh, unkind even. But it’s for Loki’s own good, he reasons. The others bully him precisely for the way he is. Precisely for the reason he takes their words so to heart. It’s his reaction they seek. Loki need only cease being so… so… as he is… and surely the bullying too will cease. So Thor reasons with himself.

But then he sees his brother’s rigid frame relax, shoulders almost slumping and hands falling limp at his sides, face still bowed down.

He does nothing for several, long seconds, and then, without a word, he turns, walking with his back to them towards a bookshelf, beginning, once he reaches it, to busy himself with pulling the volumes out, giving them what seems a cursory examination before replacing them, or switching them around in reorganization.

Only the sound of Loki’s random work fills the room for what seems an interminable amount of time, before the quiet is broken by Fandral clapping his hands loudly together.

Thor sees Loki flinch at it, only just, and he keeps his back to them, saying nothing.

“Well then,” Fandral goes on, oblivious. “come Thor. There’s good gaming today, we’ve heard, and we know you wouldn’t want to pass up a good hunt.”

Before Thor can say anything, Volstagg’s dropped the broken bird and slung a massive arm round his shoulders, steering him around to face the room’s exit, beginning to march him towards it.

“Aye, come Thor, before we miss the others. They’re preparing the horses now.”

Hogun and Fandral fall into step beside them, the latter chattering excitedly about the days coming prospects.

At the room’s threshold, Thor cranes his neck, looking back over his shoulder, and there he sees Loki, bent down onto his knees upon the floor, where Volstagg dropped the toy, his delicate fingers gathering up the broken bits and pieces of it.

And then, for the briefest instant, his little brother looks up at him, eyes locking with his. There is a flash of grief in them, Thor thinks. A flash of despair. But then Loki looks away, too quickly, and Thor can’t be sure he saw any such thing at all.

Moments later, and he’s whisked from the room by his friends.

He doesn’t see Loki again that day.

The passing of half an hour out in the woods frees his mind of the broken bird, and with it the memory of hurt in his brother’s eyes.


End file.
